


shelter

by labocat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Coercion, Isolation, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-27 16:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: The closer Martin gets to Peter Lukas, the further he gets from everything else.





	shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/gifts).



Martin was standing in the hallway, watching. No one watched back. No one’s eyes ever met in the hallway — rather, it was a dance of watching only to make sure there were no collisions, that you never actually _made_ eye contact with anyone.

Martin was standing in the middle of the hallway, eyes darting back and forth from person to person that passed him, which made Peter chuckle softly to himself. It was all too perfect, really. The Institute had all but fallen into his lap, and Martin along with it, and while when Elias had initially put forth the idea that if anything should happen to him — _if_ , in Elias’s words, meaning _when_ ; Peter knew the Beholding types well enough at this point — Peter would take over, Peter had balked at it, the whole situation had its appeal. Plenty to dislike — so many people, so many researchers, entirely unaware of what higher purpose they served or what was coming for all of them, so connected but so aimless — but then, the advent of email, of flex hours, of the “absent boss”. Of Martin.

Really, the boy should think more of himself, but really, that would lessen the appeal. He had called to Peter right from the first — not consciously, oh no. But his soul, the way he kept striving for connection from people who did nothing but push him away. That — the inevitable collapse of his soul inward like a dying star was like a beacon off of a dark sea. Peter began to look forward to the _when_ in Elias’s “if”. 

Most of it hadn’t even been his doing; he hadn’t even had to nudge the natural ways in which people thought themselves alone. It almost felt too easy, but Martin was entirely too sweet of prey to leave even an obvious trap untouched. He wondered if this had been how Elias had felt.

The people in the hallway avoided him much as they did Martin, and while Peter wouldn’t quite fool himself into thinking that the relief in Martin’s eyes at meeting his, at being recognized, was solely for him, there was still a dark, warm curl of something possessive in his chest, almost the same as his arm around Martin’s shoulders as he steered them to his office. 

When Martin sat, Peter watched. He watched as Martin sank into the chair just a little too far, then fought against that collapse, shoulders defiant and straightening up just enough to avoid slipping fully into Peter’s influence. Watched as his eyes flicked down to the floor, to not quite high enough to meet Peter’s gaze, then back down to his lap. Watched, and wondered if that was what this place did to you, to everyone.

So instead he sat, and smiled. And when he tapped lightly on the desk and Martin’s eyes jumped to his, he smiled wider to see the spark there. The hope that if Peter were asking, everything was still okay, everyone was still protected, so long as he did his part.

“Lean down,” Peter murmured as soon as Martin was around the other side of the desk and close enough Peter could loop his fingers around Martin’s wrist. Martin, bless him, knelt instead, looking up at Peter like Peter was the only person left in the world to look at, the need for acknowledgement burning in his eyes.

“They’re fine, Martin. Jon’s fine,” Peter said, answering the unspoken question and relishing it, because it wasn’t lying if the question wasn’t asked, and really, not dead was the same as fine. It wouldn’t matter in the long term, with Jon unlikely to wake up, but it brought determination back into Martin’s eyes, and the fact that it had gone meant that Peter was ever closer to crushing it completely, so he didn’t stop Martin as he felt hands at his belt buckle, a mouth on the inside of his thigh.

He simply sighed softly when Martin eased his cock from his boxers and lapped at the head. Words and eye contact were unnecessary at the best of times and were best doled out here like sweets to a child who had done well. _Lovely_ , Peter thought inside his own space, as Martin bobbed his head in Peter’s lap, eyes watering as he tried to sink further and further on each pass. Good bosses rewarded good behavior, and he let one hand caress Martin’s cheek and hair, settling him. Then, he let his breath hitch as Martin did something particularly good with his tongue, a new trick he must have tried, just for Peter. A laugh when Martin let his teeth graze lightly, not the reaction Martin would be looking for, but a reaction nonetheless. A smile, when Martin’s eyes flicked up to his, hand paused at the top of his own trousers.

“Come with me,” Peter whispered, the lure of connection his favorite bait. And Martin took it, wriggling to get one hand down his pants as the other stabilized against Peter, sinking into a rhythm with himself as Peter watched. He matched the stroke of his thumb against Martin’s cheek as best he could and reveled in the way it made Martin gasp, the implied purpose costing him nothing and meaning everything to Martin.

It was worth it, these small anchors, for the way Martin laid his head atop Peter’s thigh when they were done, hiding his face as Peter ran fingers gently through his hair. It was worth it when Martin was pliable as Peter tipped him back just far enough to lean down and kiss him, mouth open and body biddable the way it hadn’t been up until recently. It was worth it when Martin lingered in Peter’s office, not wanting to go out into that sea of people that would part around him, when he shot Peter glances, not wanting to meet his eyes, but taking solace in the knowledge that Peter knew he was there, would _be_ there. That this was still a connection he could make, without jeopardizing everything, even through the small jabs of defiance.

As Martin left and the door clicked closed behind him, Peter looked at his calendar and smiled. 

It was time to take a trip. Time to see which way Martin would fall, truly on his own, or if he would balance on that knife’s edge. He would need an assistant for what was to come.


End file.
